


Once You've Fallen From Classical Virtue

by jouissant



Category: Poses - Rufus Wainwright (Song)
Genre: 1980s, Coming of Age, Leaving Home, M/M, New York City, Recreational Drug Use, Small Towns, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” he said. “You’re really going?”</p><p>He’d been asking me since April, when the envelopes starting showing up in everyone’s mailboxes. Well, not mine. And Miller was only a sophomore, so not his either. He was a junior now, I guess, now that August was ebbing into September. And I was--well, I don’t know. I was leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once You've Fallen From Classical Virtue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/gifts).



> I've loved this song since the album came out, so it was a treat to play with it for this exchange. I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

“So,” he said. “You’re really going?”

He’d been asking me since April, when the envelopes starting showing up in everyone’s mailboxes. Well, not mine. And Miller was only a sophomore, so not his either. He was a junior now, I guess, now that August was ebbing into September. And I was--well, I don’t know. I was leaving.

Miller groaned and flopped back onto the grass. The sky was velvety over our heads, the stars a spill of salt. “You know the Greeks used to think there was a big black sheet draped over earth, cutting us off from the gods?”

Miller never quite got over the mythology unit in freshman English.

“I know,” I said.

“They said the stars were holes you could see heaven through.”

“You’re drunk.”

Miller whacked me on the chest and tugged on my sleeve, pulled me down with him. “You’re a heathen,” he says.

“You’re the heathen,” I said. “Talking about the fucking pantheon.” The grass was dry and crispy under my head.

Miller rolled onto his side and grabbed a fistful of my t-shirt. “You can’t go,” he said. “I have two more years in this hellhole.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Says the guy who’s going to New York to _make it_ in the _theatah_.”

My face got hot. “Shut the fuck up, Miller.”

We were quiet for a long time after that. They were pretty, that’s for sure. The stars, I mean. I thought about ambient light, about how dark it gets here. We drove out along the river road tonight, then cut a right and went up the hill ‘til we found a promising pasture. Miller hopped around like a pointe dancer, checking for cowshit. He was drinking a milkshake, and I grabbed it away, told him to be a man and popped the top on a Pabst for him. We sat on the grass and I set the milkshake down next to me, alternating sips of vanilla with skunky mouthfuls of beer. Miller said it was gross, but I just smiled. “Drink your beer.”

Miller was still grabbing my shirt. “Seriously, though,” he says quietly. “You can’t--” He cut himself off, scooting close enough so his head was almost on my shoulder. I can feel him shake it, like he decided not to say whatever it was after all. My heart beat faster, alcohol and sugar warring in my blood.

“You’ll be fine,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe,” I said. “And you can come up for the weekend sometime. I’ll show you the sights.”

“Where are you even going to live? How are you going to _eat_?”

Trust Miller, I thought. You could always count on him to home in on the weak spots, poke at them. It was good when we’d run lines together, but now I felt protective of my plans, such as they were. Like if anyone got too good a look, they’d blow away like smoke.

“My cousin’s,” I said. “He works downtown. He’ll let me crash on his couch for a couple weeks until I get things figured out.”

Miller sniffed. “Is that the guy who got real drunk on Thanksgiving and puked in the rosebushes?”

“I think he was on antibiotics or something,” I said.

“Right,” said Miller.

I didn’t want to talk about New York anymore. “How is it with your parents?” I asked.

Miller’s parents had been at it all summer. I guess his mom found something, a receipt or something from this hotel up near Trenton. The night it happened they had a huge blowout and I woke up to Miller tapping on my window at two in the morning. His nose was all red and he had a bunch of shit shoved in his backpack.

“You’re a terrible runaway,” I said, rummaging through it. “You’ve got what, a shirt and a pair of socks here? And the rest is all books and--is this a picture of your _sister_?” He snatched the frame back and clutched it to his chest.

“I wasn’t running away,” he said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.  

“Sure you weren’t,” I said. 

“You got anything to eat?” asked Miller. 

We went down to the kitchen to make sandwiches. In the dark on the stairs his hand swung against mine.

Now his arms were stretched out over his head and he made a gagging noise back in his throat. “My parents are insane,” he said. “I think he’s taking her to some bed-and-breakfast in Vermont to see the leaves next month. Mom loves that shit. I’m supposed to stay here with Ell.” 

“Where else would you be?” 

“I don’t know. New York.” 

He smiled then, his teeth all blue-white in the dark. Off along the fence line a couple of late fireflies circled lazily. For a second I thought about what it would be like if I stayed. 

“I meant it, you know,” I said. “I want you to come visit.” 

There was no way in hell Miller’s mom was going to let him visit me in New York. I’m pretty sure we both knew it. The night knew it too, somehow, the way the air seemed to have stayed warm and soft one more day, the erstwhile fireflies. 

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “I almost forgot--”

He was up before I could ask about it, sprinting for the car. I could hear him huffing as he crested a hillock out of sight, gaspy asthmatic. When he came back he was all jumpy with excitement, clutching something to his chest. 

“I brought you this,” he said. “Mike left it in his closet when he went back to school. He’s dating that girl, Stephanie? They’re vegetarian now, so wearing leather’s barbaric or something.” 

“Are you serious? What if he wants it back?” 

Miller shrugged. “It was just sitting there,” he said. “I figured you were going to get cold in the city, walking around everywhere.” 

I ran my hand over the red leather. It smelled rich and sweet, and a little acrid, like cigarettes. I held it up, even though there wasn’t any light to see it by, and when I shrugged it on I held my arms out to the sides, swinging them to check the fit. I swung all the way around Miller’s shoulders and squeezed. It was a nice jacket. 

“Thanks, man,” I said. 

“It fits okay, right?” 

“It’s great.” I swallowed. My pulse was pounding again, and I was starting to get a headache. I leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” I said again. He didn’t answer, but I hadn’t moved away and I could feel him smile. 

“Just--just watch your head about it, will you? When you get to the city, I mean.”

I remembered thinking how old he sounded then, like some ghost of the future had stolen inside him for a second to warn me off. It made me shiver, almost. But then the moment passed and we got back to talking about nothing, about Drama doing _Death of a Salesman_ and about Voyager spinning out to Saturn. And we didn’t kiss again. I think I punched him in the arm or something stupid when we said goodnight. 

It wasn’t until later, like months later, that I thought about it again. It was February and it was fucking freezing, and I was at Johnny’s. We were drunk and then someone had coke so we were sitting on his ripped up loveseat smoking and chewing the insides of our cheeks, both pretending we didn’t care that the guys who brought the drugs had disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door. Johnny stole that loveseat from some secondhand furniture store, just grabbed a buddy of his and hauled it off down the street in broad daylight. I told him I was 22. I didn’t know if he ever figured out I was lying. 

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Go get cigarettes,” he said, tossing the empty pack in my lap.” 

“Fine,” I said. “Fuck, where are my shoes?” 

“Just wear my flip-flops.” 

My feet were freezing. I zipped up the jacket and wrapped my arms across my front, tucking my hand under my arms. It looked good, the jacket, but it wasn’t all that warm. 

I bought the cigarettes and stood in front of Johnny’s building to smoke one alone. There was dirty snow in the gutter, so of course I was thinking about summer. 

Watch your head about it. 

“Yeah,” I said out loud. “No kidding.”


End file.
